16. 16 – Luciano
16 – Luciano
“ A re they back yet?”
At the gruff voice, I turn my head. We’re sprawled on the rug in the living area, Alessia grabbing for every one of the million toys I ordered, inspecting them as I assess her reaction.
The keep pile is much, much bigger than the toss pile.
Dom lingers in the doorway, his eyes flicking down to watch her.
“Not yet. Come in.”
He settles into a chair opposite us, hands gripping the sides as if he would rather be anywhere else.
I switch my attention back to Alessia as she holds up a teddy, shaking it with delight. “ Ba !”
Stefano will be delighted to know that she sees him on the same level as a stuffed bear. When she climbs awkwardly to her feet, the teddy gripped in her small hand, I don’t stop her as she wobbles across the room.
Dom goes still as she reaches him. He doesn’t move, barely breathes, as she pushes the teddy into his lap with an expectant babble. She tries to climb up after it, letting out a frustrated noise when she slides back to the ground.
He stays still, gray eyes fixed on her sliding to me as the noises from her mouth begin to border on upset. “Come and get her.”
“Busy, I’m afraid.” I press a white note on the little keyboard. “Lots of nursery rhymes to learn if I’m going to steal Stefano’s spot as the favorite.”
“ Luc .”
I glance over my shoulder. “She wants you to pick her up.”
“Morelli.” He sounds almost tortured.
I press another key, ear cocked to hear the note. “Your sister must have been an amazing woman, Domenico.”
Ice coats his tone. “What do you mean?”
I tilt my head toward Alessia, as she tries desperately to gain his attention. “Because there is a part of her that remains, in that little girl. She loves so freely , forgives mistakes without question or thought or fear, and that can only be because of how she has been raised. It is a wonderful gift to leave behind, I think. A small part of Beatrice, and her husband.”
Dom’s brow furrows as he looks down. He swallows, his throat bobbing.
I turn my attention back to the keyboard.
And the frustrated noises vanish, replaced by happier, flowing, nonsensical conversation.
When my phone goes off, I roll over to grab it, sitting up. “Nico.”
“Luc.” My second’s voice is strained, more than I’ve ever heard it. “Something was sent through. A message. For you.”
“For me—,”
I stop. Matteo would not have this number. Only the one I gave to Stefano, and thagt phone was lost in the Asante compound. “Send it through.”
He hesitates. “It’s not—,”
“ Send it through .”
“What is it?” I don’t respond to Dom’s demand as the video loads. The hair lifts on the back of my neck as I press the screen.
No greeting awaits me. No words.
This is a different sort of message.
Dom is in front of me, his hand cupped over Alessia’s head. “The fuck is that ?”
In my hand, the screaming rings out. Endless screaming, over and over again. Thuds, cries. The video is dark, but I don’t need to see to know exactly what this message is.
Domenico pales. “Is that—,”
“The price,” I say numbly. The video ends, but I can still hear those fucking screams of agony, every single one burning into my soul and leaving scars behind.
Amie.